Draco's First Year
by TeaWithMeAtThree
Summary: Harry Potter told from the perspective Draco Malfoy.
1. The Acceptance Letter

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter - all to JK Rowling._

 _Before you read this, please know I am struggling to write like an eleven year old as my style is quite different; I'm trying to get some of the ideas of a brain that age (instead of the writing style) though! Also I'm sorry about the error in that Bellatrix would be in Azkaban when Draco was this age, so apologies for that. But we can just pretend otherwise for this scene – I'd already written it so didn't want to go back and do it again. I'll try to be more accurate in future. Be sure to give me any suggestions of what you want included in the writing (theories etc.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

Mr and Mrs Malfoy were renowned to be two of the most important death eaters in all of England. They had a son – me – and I hoped that I too would soon be able to intimidate a room of people merely by pausing in the doorway. I wanted to walk with regality, and talk with an important and condescending air that forces others to respect and listen to me. Out of loyalty, yet also out of fear.

Hogwarts was my opportunity. I have been stuck at home for countless years and now I can finally escape. Once I'm away from my parents I can do things my way. I will become a great man, a superior figure, and it should be easy to do so. Being a Malfoy means it's in my nature – in my pure blood – to achieve great things, greater things than those around me. Or so I am told. I look up to my parents, but that doesn't mean I always agree with them. It's hard to when sometimes the boundaries between right and wrong get blurred in my mind. But I know I will get it right.

It was after months of pondering my freedom of Hogwarts when my letter finally arrived. Having waited so long, I was entirely prepared for the event and had planned what I would do. I would open the letter carefully, preserving the envelope, and once read would inform my parents. A good plan until I remembered I was far too excited to stick to a plan.

That morning the letter was passed to me through one of the house helves. I snatched it from them and shoved them away, eager to open it. On the front were swirls of emerald green ink that read:

' _Mr D. Malfoy_

 _The Room at the End of the Corridor_

 _Malfoy Manor_

 _Wiltshire'_

On the back was a purple wax seal bearing a familiar coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'. This confirmed my suspicion: my Hogwarts acceptance letter had arrived! I tore open the envelope – I wanted it now; no savouring this anticipated moment. Inside was a folded yellowing paper titles _'HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY'_. The details of Dumbledore bored me so I skipped to the part beginning ' _Dear Mr Malfoy'_. I felt a small accomplishment in this formal addressing as it was just like a letter for my father. Except it was to me, for me. I smirked at the paper with pride of this adult title. Anyway, the letter continued…

' _Dear Mr Malfoy,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress'_

I never doubted it, but I was excited all the same. I was in! I ran to tell mother and father (though slowed when I remembered their disapproval of such "uncivilised behaviour Draco".) Though I soon sped up again and slid round the corner bursting into the drawing room. I was about to call to them when I noticed our guest. My decelerating heels made a screech that shot to the other end of the room where the figure sat and I cursed myself for alerting attention in my direction. The woman sat in our deep moss green armchair by the marble fireplace, her rugged black curls cascading over the seat and spurting off at different angles. Our walls are deep purple, so dark they appear like shadows wrapping the room in an ominous wallpaper of fear. Three heads turned to me when I entered, each bearing a different expression. My father was frustrated, my mother disapproving but worst was my aunt. Her lips perked up at the corners and her eyes buzzed with amusement yet an all too familiar undertone of anger. I cowered backwards slightly. This woman scared the life out of me whenever she visited. I felt so small, so weak, and so petty around her. I avoided her as much as I could. Yet of course this evil woman would be the one to turn up on my day of excitement, she'd be the one to ruin it.

"Draco…" she laughed with a creepy emphasis only she could manage.

"Not now dear," my mother began before she was interrupted.

"Oh no sissy let Draco have a little chat." My mother could see my aunt wouldn't be satisfied unless I came to talk, and knew better than provoke her. I was beckoned over so I walked carefully across the cool wood. I blamed myself for getting into this though knew it was too late to back out today. I tried to appear composed, desperate to make an impression, but under her gaze just felt like the young boy I am. She wanted me to be like my parents, and I wanted that too. But each step I took reminded me of how petty I am compared to them, compared to my father. He was a great death eater, previously acquainted with Voldemort himself, and I hoped to follow in his footsteps someday. I just needed to grow a bit taller I think. Now close up, I felt a heavy pressure to talk. I began to explain why I had come to the room.

"I, I got a letter in the post. My letter for Hogwarts." No one spoke so I continued. "It says we need to send a reply, I was just going to fetch my owl and do it." All of this was said whilst looking at my mother, looking for help. Bellatrix gave a gentle cackle and my eyes tensed at the mere sound of it. Oh I just wanted to get out of there.

"Hogwarts! Ah ha"

"Slytherin no doubt." My father continued.

My aunt murmed an unintelligible response and cast her arm off the chair in a sharp motion slicing the air next to me. She stretched outwards and pushed herself into a contorted shape before slumping back into the chair with a sigh. She was restless and I felt vulnerable being around her in her temperamental state. Though it is fair to say she was always in a temperamental state. She's a dangerous woman, and Azkaban took its toll.

I was keenly dismissed – they had other things they wished to discuss. My aunt's latest torture fascination for one. My parents try to hide some things but growing up surrounded by secrets has meant I'm pretty good at catching on to conversation. I'm familiar with that disturbing murderous glisten my aunt will have when she feels bored. Another reason to avoid her. She's dangerous – though as long she is unprovoked she can be quite subdued when she comes to visit us especially as she only tends to come to talk to Mother (who has quite a calming influence over even the fiercest of death eaters.) That's also why I'm so cautious – I don't want to trigger anything. She's fragile but in no way delicate – she's fragile because the slightest thing could cause her to slip into Bellatrix Lestrange, the Azkaban escapee, the hunted death eater, the murderer. The sight of blood on her hands and her dress when she's been out is something that can cause me to run.

I ran when I was dismissed too. I'm not important – and then I was glad of it. Once out of sight I broke into a sprint down the hall, up the stairs to the end of the corridor. I slammed the door shut. I knew no one would've seen me – the house was always in a deadly silence, and apart from our family it was empty (ignoring the elves of course.) Therefore I felt free to run and escape the encounter that left me feeling so trapped.

Once in my room I let out a breath of relief. First I placed the letter down in the centre of my desk. Then I re read it, checking each detail. I was content I knew all the details until I noticed a slip of paper left in the envelope. Carefully I removed it and discovered a list of necessary materials. Robes, books, a wand – everything I could need. That's when I remembered – a wand! Finally my mother would let me have a wand! I tried to think where I needed to go to buy this stuff… Someone had mentioned it before… That's it – Diagon Alley.


	2. Diagon Alley

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter – all the JK Rowling. Some lines are copied from the book – this is speech, to fit what would be happening. All rights to her therefore on that part_ _I hope you like our first Harry encounter_

* * *

We used floo powder to get to Diagon Alley – last time my parents tried to side-apparate I discovered my father was not impressed to have my breakfast spluttered onto his cloak. Consequently, if I ever travelled, it would be through the floo network. I rarely left the manor though so I still found the travel a bit strange. The shimmering grains sifted through my fingers as I spoke the words and in a snap I found myself popped up by the street. This was no ordinary street though – it was full of colours and noise and people. Escorted by my parents I walked up the alley. As we passed people hurried out our way and I smiled at how regal I felt.

"So many mudbloods in one place. All the _muggle_ parents, it disgusts me." Father commented in a repulsed tone and mother gave a mutual nod. I began to notice how some parents seemed a bit lost and agreed with my father – they didn't belong here. This is a place for wizards, not for muggles and their… children. However this soon lacked interest for there was so much else to see. There were ingredients and cauldrons, bubbles, brooms and barn owls, everything glowing with the excitement of something new. It was so nice to see something new – everything at home was antique and ornate. In front of me now was a rainbow of items and I wanted it all.

I was directed to a shop entitled 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occassions'. My mother held my cheek in her palm and softly told me to go in and get my robe fitted while she and father got some of the things I needed. I was slightly nervous to enter on my own but obliged, hoping to seem grown up to her. She smiled but once I began to turn this smile slipped into a serious expression she wore in front of strangers and I remembered the reputation of my parents. With this I stepped into the shop my head held high, hoping the shopkeeper would recognise my heritage. Instead a bumbling lady hurried up to me.

"You Hogwarts, love?" she asked and I nodded, taking in my surroundings with a clear of my throat. She took me over to a stool and told me to climb up. I stood awkwardly and tried to look for the Hogwarts robes. As the assistant returned to me I heard the bell ring with another customer entering. He was a small boy with ruffled black hair slipping down to his battered glasses. I dipped forward as a robe was pushed over my head and when I looked he was stood on a stool next to me. I scrunched my nose deciding what to say.

"Hullo. Hogwarts too?" I asked eyeing the black robes being carried to him.

"Yes," he replied, looking warmly at me. For a moment there was silence. Clearly this boy had no idea how to converse. I sighed before carrying on to tell him about myself (seeing as he lacked any interest.) He just stood there vacantly, with an awkward smile spurring me to talk.

"My father's next door buying books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Whilst talking I had remembered the broom I had spotted walking up the street earlier and hoped I could persuade my parents to let me have one. I'm sure my parents would approve – they like to buy the best for me, and the new racing broom was certainly the best. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No." he replied.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No." His monosyllabic responses gave me the opportunity to tell him about my broom. I was sure he'd be interested to know about it.

"I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet." He repeated the same "No" he had already responded with two times previous. I frowned – how could he not know what house he's in. My parents always talk about how it is predetermined, how the members of a family all belong in a certain house. I was sure this boy must be in shock or was having a temporary memory blank – every wizard family took pride in their background after all and I was surprised he wasn't telling me all about himself.

"Well, no one really knows before they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you." My father had quite straightly told me his opinions about the other houses. Slytherin was reserved for the intelligent and superior – the others were insignificant in comparison. Although worst was Hufflepuff – they're focussed on team work, trust, kindness and loyalty. I know better than anyone else that if you want to get something done then you need to do it yourself. No point in relying on others – everyone is just focussed on themselves anyway. May as well work alone, save the hastle with dealing with potentially hopeless people like the boy beside me. Suddenly I noticed a shadow peering through the windows with a clumsy grin. "I say, look at that man!"

"That's Hagrid," explained the boy. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" I recognised the name from one of the books I had been reading about Hogwarts. He was a half-giant and I was sure I had read he was at school with Voldemort. There had been stories about the animals he kept, and something (though I couldn't remember what) had caused him to lose his wand. I'm sure it had to be related to all those dirty animals.

"He's the gamekeeper." Answered the boy. This confirmed my animal theories.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed." My story made me laugh, and I imagined this large man getting into all sorts of trouble. He was like a character out a book.

"I think he's brilliant". I turned to the boy who was now staring coldly at me. I pursed my lips at this statement – brilliant is hardly the adjective I'd use to describe the giant.

"Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. My parents controlled my life so much – I couldn't imagine what I'd be without them. They were my guide of how to behave and what to do or wear or say. Thinking about them triggered me to remember the muggles in the street, and I thought I ought to check who this boy was. My father would greatly disapprove of me talking to a mudblood after all, and the idea hardly appealed to me either. If this boy was a mudblood then father was right. They were boring and unimpressive, and were nothing compared to a wizard. This boy evidently lacked the graces of someone from a pureblood family so I questioned. "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." I frowned – this boy didn't have muggle parents though he was definitely how my father had described mudbloods. A discovery to me – not all purebloods are that great I guess.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?" However before he could respond his shop assistant took him down from the stool as he was finished his fitting. Without so much as a goodbye the boy walked away from me. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose." I drawled, offended by his rude departure. When my parents arrived I told them about him, though without any surname to discuss the conversation promptly ended.

Soon we entered the wand shop – ' _Ollivanders'_ – and a smooth brown wand was placed in front of me. I reached for the grey handle but my mother pushed my hand down allowing the man behind the counter to talk. The shop was dimly lit and I hadn't noticed he was there until now.

"Malfoy." He stated with a smirk, glancing to my parents before looking back to me. He drew out a tape measure can gave a satisfied tut before pushing the wand forward to me. "As your mother thought… This should be about right. Give it a try." Accepting this opportunity I scooped it from the counter and held it up to my eyes. There was a comfortable feeling, and the man clearly recognised this and smiled at his choice. "First time," he chuckled to himself, "I haven't lost it yet." As he wrapped the wand for me he told me it's properties – 10 inch, hawthorn, unicorn hair. I propped my shoulders up and grasped the package once he was done, proud of my long-awaited wand. My father swiped it from me and placed it into the bag he was carrying. I was angry – after all this time hoping for it, all I wanted was to use my wand. I was about to complain when I spotted the broom again.

"Please." I begged my father but my mother firmly responded for him.

"You already have a broom Draco, and a new one at that. I'm sure you can manage…"

"But everyone will laugh. It's not a racing broom mother – I need a racing broom, that's what everyone else is getting." I had no idea if that's what everyone was getting but I hoped it would help persuade my parents – our family image meant a lot to them, and they wouldn't want someone else looking better than us.

"First years aren't allowed brooms Draco." My father muttered. His boredom annoyed me more, but I soon realised my parents weren't budging on the issue. So much for bullying them into letting me have one.

"You don't care about me." I grumbled whilst kicking the ground as we walked. My father grunted and we continued the walk to the fireplace without another word spoken.

Back at home I stamped upstairs my room and slammed my bedroom door, hoping to make a point. I doubt they'd heard me in this large manor but I was still pleased as I viewed it as a fair expression of my anger. Night-time arrived and I hadn't left my room yet, eating at my desk to avoid my parents. I lay on my bed with a book across my chest and gazed lazily to the window. A stream of moonlight slithered into my room. I moved into its path and gazed at the crescent in the sky, wondering how many days would pass before it would be full again. Through my sight I travelled across the landscape in front of me. Through the handsome gardens, over sharp hedgerows and deep trees and into the distance. Again I thought about the number of days left; the number of days before Hogwarts begins. In a whisper each evening I counted down: "3, 2, 1…"


End file.
